Chapter Twenty-Eight: Mockingbird's Demise
A/N: I've been waiting for this chapter for a good while now, and so I've been nervous about updating. There are two major deaths here. As always a huge thank you to those who take the time to review, and I really hope you all enjoy what's in store.
Tamara returned to the Eyrie with an agenda and a fairly good idea of how to enact a plan years in the making. Perhaps once she had dreamed things could have gone differently, but as time went on, it became clear that the Vale would flourish under her leadership - and hers alone. Of course there was also the matter of presenting Tybalt to the court. It felt like victory to have produced a son, an heir to the Eyrie despite his Lannister.
It had been many months since Tamara had been within her own court, and she wondered how many Arryn loyalists Petyr Baelish had attempted to snag from under her fingertips. Lord Baelish greeted Tamara with a deep bow the moment she returned, pale eyes latching onto the auburn-haired babe in her arms.
"I see you and Jaime have welcomed a son." The smile that crossed his lips may have appeared genuine to some, but Tamara knew Petyr well enough now to see how strained it was. "Congratulations."
Jaime was a lingering presence, and Tamara was mildly surprised he hadn't offered any sardonic commentary. She supposed he was still uneasy here, wondering how he fit into a court loyal to his wife, and where Tamara had all the power. Well, not quite all of the power. Not yet. His green eyes were permanently locked onto Petyr. He did not trust the man, and if it was up to Jaime, he would have gone through the Moon Door already.
"Thank you, Lord Baelish." Tamara arched an eyebrow. "I trust things have gone smoothly in my absence?"
"Indeed, Lady Arryn," Petyr responded, his eyes flicking to Jaime. "Lord Jaime."
"Is that so?" Tamara passed Tybalt to Jaime, who eagerly took the babe and held him close. "I hear Sansa Stark was married to Ramsay Bolton, a man who has raped and abused her. Would you consider that smooth?"
Her biting tone had Petyr at a loss for words, which Tamara considered an achievement in itself. He always had something witty to say, an excuse to offer. Had Petyr lost his touch, she wondered, or had she simply reached the point where she could outmanoeuvre him? She did not congratulate herself on her cleverness, for she knew that arrogance and complacency were the downfall of men and women alike.
"I had no idea what the man was like," Petyr protested, "I never would have married her to him had I been aware."
Tamara folded her arms over her chest. "Lord Baelish, that either makes you a liar or a fool."
She did not know which was worse, but neither was a promising option. Petyr's expression indicated that he was aware he was not in her good books. Tamara loved her cousin Sansa fiercely and had always done whatever was in her power to protect her, and then Petyr had gone and ruined her efforts.
"I would like to think I am neither, simply...misinformed."
Tamara waved a dismissive hand. She currently did not have the time nor the patience for Petyr. Her focus was on finding her footing again, especially since she didn't know how many of the Vale felt about her alliance with Aegon Targaryen. There were many new occurrences since she had been gone, things she would need to navigate.
"We will speak later."
Petyr was mildly surprised to hear a loud argument break out between Jaime and Tamara on their first night back in the Vale. He could not hear what the bickering was about, but judging by the sound of doors slamming and a woman crying, it had not ended well. The marriage had strengthened over the past few years since Tamara had had Dianella, however Petyr didn't think it would ever truly be an agreeable match.
After a few moments, he ventured from his room to check on Tamara. He knew that she was cool and distant toward him because of what had happened with Sansa. That had been an error on his part. He hoped that comforting her after a clearly volatile argument with her husband would get him close to her once again. Petyr tapped on her door, and a tearful Tamara opened it, wiping hastily at her eyes.
"Lord Baelish." Her tone was flat, her expression wary more than surprised.
"I heard shouting and I came to see how you are faring." Petyr did not notice her husband in the room. "Where is Jaime?"
"I think he left," Tamara murmured, averting her eyes, "He mentioned returning to Casterly Rock. Being held prisoner for so long must have taken a toll. The Eyrie doesn't feel like home to him."
"May I come in?" Petyr asked, pausing to allow Tamara a moment to decide. She hesitated, opening the door wider. Tybalt was asleep in a cot near the window. Evidently the baby must be a deep sleeper if he'd managed to rest through his parents' shouting match. This child more closely resembled Tamara than Jaime.
Tamara sat on the edge of the bed, playing with her hands. Her eyes remained fixed on the curtains billowing in the slight breeze. There was a darkness across her face, a certain menace cast by the shadows in the waning candlelight. When she remained silent, Petyr opted to speak first.
"I understand things must be...difficult with Jaime."
"I don't think you would understand, Lord Baelish," Tamara murmured, her words firm but without spite, "You have never been married, after all. It's a more complicated matter than you might think."
"I do understand that you are upset." Petyr placed a hand atop hers, quietening her fidgeting. "I know you have a bright mind, but I feel that Jaime does not. He values you as a wife and a woman, not for your cleverness."
"So you value me for my cleverness?" Tamara arched an eyebrow, shifting and brushing Petyr's hand off hers. She had always been uncertain about his affection, allowing it at first before turning him away. It was as though she couldn't decide if she wanted him or not. The uncertainty was good - it was something Petyr could work with.
"I do." Petyr watched as Tamara eased herself up off the bed, gliding over to check on her sleeping son. She was a good mother, although she had been stressed when she had fallen pregnant with Dianella. When she turned to face him, her hands were balled into fists.
"I think you value more than that."
Tamara's eyes were soft, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Petyr crossed over to her, reaching out to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She had grown into a beautiful woman, the sort of Lady of the Vale that her father Jon Arryn would have been proud of. He leaned in to kiss her, wondering if she would welcome the advance or demurely rebuff him.
Suddenly, Petyr felt something sharp and cold pierce his chest, and looked down to see that Tamara had pushed a knife into his heart. When he staggered back, staring at her in disbelief, there was cold satisfaction in her blue eyes. As a younger girl she might have been horrified by her actions, but the woman she was now wore an expression of utmost triumph. Tamara had played him - and she had won.
"You thought I would want your compassion?" Tamara hissed, brandishing the bloody knife, prepared to strike again if necessary. "I saw what your 'compassion' brought my cousin, and I want none of it. Westeros is safer without you in it."
"Tamara…" Petyr choked out a plea that made her lips curve into a mirthless smile.
"Yes, Lord Baelish? What is it you think you can possibly offer me now?" Tamara sneered. "I know you killed my brother. He was always a sickly boy, so it made it easy for you."
Petyr collapsed to his knees, and then onto his back. The last thing he saw as everything faded into nothing was the malevolence of a woman who would stop at nothing to enact her iron will. Her glittering blue eyes haunted him in his dying moments. He had missed many things, but his fatal mistake had been missing Tamara's icy resolve.
Jaime Lannister had had the displeasure of seeing Petyr Baelish on many an occasion, particularly in King's Landing. The man was everything, like a snake slithering through the garden, trading in gossip and rumours. However this time was probably the only time he had felt vicious satisfaction, seeing Baelish's corpse on the floor of his wife's room. The only sound was the whisper of the wind through the navy curtains of the windows, and Tamara's bare feet against the stone tiles.
Tamara was by the fire, pacing back and forth. Her nightgown was spattered with blood and her hands were shaking. Tybalt, by some miracle, was still sleeping. Jaime didn't understand how the babe could do it. He and Tamara had feigned an argument and a man had been killed in this room, and the child hadn't even rolled over.
"I found him like this." Tamara's voice trembled and tears welled in her eyes. Gods, she was good. She reminded Jaime somewhat of her cousin Sansa, a consummate actress, able to wear a mask for any occasion. He knew the truth of the matter - that their 'argument' had been a farce. Tamara had assured him that Petyr would be drawn in like a moth to the flame if he sensed conflict - and she had been right.
"He was murdered?" Lord Yohn Royce appeared perturbed, although none of the lords and ladies who had gathered seemed particularly upset about Baelish's death. Jaime couldn't blame them - the man had been a manipulative cunt at the best of times.
"I...I don't know." Tamara examined her bloody hands. "I found him like this. I don't know why he was in my room in the first place."
Undoubtedly some of the men and women knew her well enough to contest her story. However Jaime would hedge a bet that they respected Tamara more than Baelish. He had not been well liked in the Vale, and if they suspected that Tamara was responsible for his death, they didn't say a word about it.
"Could he have done it to himself?" Lord Royce asked, though he seemed to ask out of curiosity rather than concern.
"Perhaps, but I wouldn't know why." Tamara wiped her hands on the hem of her nightgown, smearing scarlet across white. "If you'll excuse me, I wish to bathe and get the blood off. This has been an awful night."
The lords and ladies filed out of the Warden of the East's chambers, whispering as they went, leaving her alone with Jaime. As they left, a vicious little smile crossed her lips and she nodded slowly. Jaime had thought his wife was all stiff formality when they had first wed, but she had changed into something else - a woman not afraid to get her hands dirty to keep her family safe.
"It's what he deserves." Tamara stared contemptuously down at the bloodstained tiles where Baelish's body had been before the servants had removed it. "He killed my brother, and he thought I would buy the excuse that Robin had always been ill."
Tamara had become many things over the years, but Jaime had not suspected a killer. When she had hatched the ploy, part of him wondered if she had the steel it would take to do the deed. He would have done it on her behalf, but he was not trusted in the Vale either. It had fallen to Tamara, and she had completed the task that many across the country would thank her for if they knew the truth.
"He's always been a plague on Westeros." Jaime raked a hand through his hair, watching as his wife stripped off her nightgown and tossed it into the flames.
"I can't undo what he did." Tamara picked up a pale blue blanket and drew it around her naked body, curling up in front of the fire. When she glanced over her shoulder, he saw tears welling in her eyes. "I can't resurrect my parents or my brother. I can't save Sansa from the horrors she never should have had to endure."
Jaime sighed. "There's much we can't undo. I still hear people whisper 'Kingslayer'. I wouldn't undo the deed but, well...I've done more horrific things than most men."
"Do you regret them?" Tamara asked softly, raising her hands to warm them over the fire.
"No," Jaime admitted. His terrible actions had come at a cost, but there had always been a reason behind them. He was not a man who did violent things for the sake of cruelty. He wondered whether, as the years passed, Tamara would look back on Baelish's death with regret. Somehow, he doubted it.
Brynden Tully thought the Lannister and Frey forces attempting to attack Riverrun must have been pissed that he survived the Red Wedding. No doubt they had been even less pleased once he had been joined by the dragon boy and his forces. Brynden had his doubts about Aegon in the beginning, his suspicions. The longer they held Riverrun, the more his opinions began to change. Through the fire and the long nights, Brynden saw the makings of a true King.
Tamara had been sensible in choosing Aegon as an ally, and Brynden even believed he might help Aegon fight for the Iron throne once this was done. There wasn't much he believed in anymore, but the dragon prince was starting to prove his mettle.
Unfortunately, the tide was turning outside Riverrun. The Freys had brought in Edmure Tully, still their prisoner. Whilst Brynden would have reluctantly sacrificed his nephew for Riverrun, it became apparent that was not the worst of it - Edmure had more control over the Tully forces, because he was the true Lord of the Riverlands. There was nothing Brynden could do to change that.
He had Aegon, and the Targaryen boy's forces. Brynden had fled from The Twins when they'd killed Robb and Catelyn, but he wouldn't run this time. He would defend his home, even if it meant dying. He just didn't know if that Aegon would stand firm, or surrender his own forces.
"I'm surprised you didn't go out there to greet him." Brynden approached the boy. He was tall, almost as tall as the Blackfish himself. He looked resplendent in his shining armour. Brynden wondered if that had been part of his appeal to Tamara, the look of the gallant knight who could have rescued a storybook damsel.
"You are my ally, not Edmure." Aegon's violet eyes glittered and a grim smile spread across his lips. "Together, we may stand a chance at holding Riverrun, even if your forces do stand down."
Spoken like a boy who hadn't seen much of war, Brynden thought. Perhaps Aegon had managed to take Storm's End, but he had seen little of battle. All boys wanted to be heroes. Robb had been a noble young man too, and now he was dead. He didn't think that Aegon stayed for Riverrun, or even for Brynden.
"Why do you really stay, Aegon?"
"I told Tamara I would help her take back the Riverlands." Aegon shrugged his shoulders, drawing his sword from its sheath as their enemies came spilling through the gates. "Handing it over to the Freys doesn't seem like it will be doing that. I keep the promises I make to my allies."
"Seems rare these days," Brynden grumbled.
"I was raised to be a just ruler," Aegon responded, eyes scanning the Frey soldiers as they made their approach. He did not want to be here, fighting another family's war, but he would stay because it was the right thing to do. What a bloody fool. "When I am King, I intend to be the sort of monarch…"
An arrow whizzed across the courtyard and pierced Aegon through the throat. He staggered back with the force of the impact, clawing at the arrow even as blood gushed from the wound. Brynden's heart sank, knowing it was a wound that there was no recovering from. This green boy, the one whose conviction reminded him so much of Robb, would die here in Riverrun before he even got the chance to sit on the Iron throne.
His sword gripped tightly in his hand, Brynden crossed over to Aegon. The boy collapsed onto his back, the wet choking sound turning Brynden's stomach. He knelt beside Aegon, taking the young man's hand in his own. Aegon's eyes were wide and frightened as he died, but Brynden would not leave him alone, the same way he had left Robb.
As Aegon went still, the arrow still lodged in his throat, a sense of great sorrow came over Brynden. The young man had such big dreams and high hopes, and he had died before any of them had come to fruition. As the Frey soldiers filed into the courtyard, Brynden eased himself to his feet and spun his sword. If he was going to die, he would do so fighting for his childhood home.
The Moon Door spooked Gendry more than anything else in the Eyrie. It had been a favourite method of execution by Tamara's mother, Lysa. Although the Lady of the Vale had yet to use the door as punishment, Gendry hoped he wouldn't have to bear witness when she did. He wasn't much fond of heights, and it looked like quite the fall. The breeze that came through when it was open chilled him to the bone.
"Gendry." Tamara sauntered into the hall with Tybalt on her hip. Dianella followed not far behind, a tiny blonde girl with mischievous eyes. "I take it that you heard about what happened the other night."
"Lord Baelish's murder." Gendry nodded slowly. He had heard about the occurrence. "Well, some of the nobility seem to think it might have been a suicide. They don't seem to be pushing to investigate it, though."
"Lord Baelish was not well-liked in the Vale." Tamara handed Tybalt to a maid, sending Dianella off as well as she came to sit beside Gendry. "He had a habit of overstepping himself, and asserting more power than he should have."
Tamara leaned forward to peer through the Moon Door. The slight breeze ruffled her auburn hair. For a moment Gendry worried that she may fall, but she remained steady. When she glanced at him, a rueful smile crossed her lips.
"I used to hear stories about this door as a child in King's Landing. My father used to say the Moon Door was a more elegant method of execution. It only seems bloodless because you don't see the final result. Once I came here and saw the Moon Door for myself, I realised it was just as brutal as a beheading."
"Have you seen a lot of death?" Gendry asked. King's Landing was a cesspit without mercy for nobility and baseborn alike, and Tamara had spent many years there.
"Quite." Tamara nodded. For a few moments, the wind whistling through the Moon Door was the only sound in the silent hall, before the Lady of the Eyrie spoke again. "Some I have even dealt myself, such as with Lord Baelish."
"What?" Gendry's brow furrowed as he tried to fathom Tamara's intentions. Why had she told him this? That was not the story he'd heard. "You...you killed Lord Baelish?"
"I had to." Tamara's expression was grim. Clearly, she did not relish the confession. Did she regret the deed, he wondered. "He killed my younger brother Robin, and he and my mother conspired to murder my father. I cannot abide such treachery, nor can I forgive it. Who better to deal the death blow than me?"
"He cared for you," Gendry noted. He had not been at the Eyrie long, yet he had noticed the way Lord Baelish's eyes lingered on Tamara. The man seemed to have few weaknesses, but Tamara had been one of them.
"He wanted me." Tamara waved a hand dismissively. "That's different."
Gendry supposed it was. He was no fool to the lust of men. He had just thought Baelish to be above such vices, particularly as Tamara was married with two children. It had been that desire for Tamara that had ultimately been his demise. He wondered if Jaime had known of Tamara's plot, for she didn't implicate him now.
Tamara leaned back and raised her eyebrows, looking for all the world in that moment like a carefree girl rather than a woman who'd admitted such ruthless killing.
"Speak your mind, Gendry. I want to know what you think."
"Why did you tell me?" Gendry asked, genuinely confused. Tamara had sung a different song to the lords and ladies of the Vale. Why did she trust him, and not them? She had known them far longer, and their loyalty to House Arryn was rooted deep.
"Because you must learn to play the game." A tight smile crossed Tamara's lips. "You might be a bastard, but you are Baratheon by blood. If you one day rule Storm's End, or Dragonstone, you need to be able to use more than your hammer against people."
"Do you trust me?" Gendry asked, wondering if that was what had driven Tamara to her admission of guilt. What would the rest of the Vale say if they knew? Would they condemn her, or would they turn a blind eye due to their distaste for Baelish.
Tamara considered the question for a few moments. "Not fully, but I know you are loyal. You don't strike me as the type to betray me."
"And if I play this game you speak of, and later I become the sort of man who would?"
Her smile was saccharine sweet. "Then we would deal with that when we came to it."
Tamara was a puzzle to Gendry. She was of an age with him, yet she seemed to run circles around him in terms of wit. Her demeanour indicated she wanted to make him a confidante, although he could not have guessed why. He was bastard born and while street smart, he wasn't clever in the same way she was. When she rose, she lifted her chin and looked at him with determination glittering in her blue eyes.
"Gendry Waters, I would name you a Knight of the Vale."
The remark shocked him, and he immediately staggered to his feet. He barely knew this woman, and yet she had trusted him with something the Vale nobility didn't know, and now she wanted to make him a knight. It made him slightly suspicious. What was in this for Tamara, he wondered.
"I...I appreciate the gesture, my lady, but…"
"Good." Tamara had made up her mind, and no amount of stammered excuses would change it. "Perhaps the day will come when you have to use that hammer of yours in my defense."
"Lady Arryn!" A young servant hurried into the room, eyes wide as he clutched a scroll of parchment tightly in his fisted hand. "News from the Riverlands. It's urgent."